If you need a leading light, then you have to change the lightbulb…

Is it utterly creepy to say that I’ve been thinking about Theresa May? Yeah, it is. In my heart of hearts I know this, but I can’t help myself. You see, I have what I consider a big problem. And the utterly twatty thing about my problem is that it’s like an amoeba on the arse of a rhinoceros compared to the shit that Tessie deals with on a day to day basis.

And therein lies the fly in the cornflakes, the shitstain on the bowl, the irritating lump of mascara that inexplicably finds itself in your fringe: I really admire Theresa May.

If you’ve read even 1% of this blog then you know that I hold no truck with these politician-types. More-or-less regardless of their leaning, they have personal agendas and a level of selfish posturing that makes me want to fashion crude missiles out of the contents of our Tupperware cupboard and the strange fluids under the sink then fire them into the sky with a crude gps (read: bit of paper under a laccy band) that will transport them miraculously to the homes of ‘fucknutted political morons’. Not that I do, you understand. I’m not completely psychotic. Besides, whenever I have any time to fart around I use it to supervise homework, drink wine and dance to Le Tigre in the kitchen whilst Facebooking my playlists.

And without even trying, I’ve given myself another reason to feel utterly inferior to our Home Secretary. She wouldn’t be bollocksing about in the kitchen to Dizzee Rascal. Or singing ‘Do You Wanna Build A Snowman?’ under her breath in the queue at Tesco Express. She’s all about protecting the country and shit. As I stand cooking a balanced dinner, wondering whether or not I’m going to cope with the 7:45am judo drop-off, T-May is probably negotiating the country out of an amber alert status. Yesterday, while I was teaching our six year old how to ‘shake it like a Polaroid picture’ to Outkast, she was dealing with the fallout of her speech to the police federation. No matter what you think of her politics, she’s shit hot at her job and terrifies the life out of everyone.

I heard on the grapevine that she has more security than any other Home Secretary ever. At first I thought this might be because she’s arrogant. Or because her sex attracts more attack and anger (then remembered that she’s not the first female HS). But apparently not. It’s basically because she works around the clock and requires a day shift and a night shift of security. That essentially means that she’s working twice as long and presumably twice as hard as any of her predecessors. I know I sound like a total halfwit, but FUCKING HELL, RIGHT? I mean, you and I get our spanx in a bunch over working long hours and many of us are in screamingly unforgiving and stressful jobs, but I don’t think any of us would swap places. You could pay me a million quid a day and I wouldn’t work with the dicknoses that she calmly tolerates, whilst capably negotiating national security during the limited hours she has when she’s not moving from meeting to engagement to MPs surgery to taking a piss a occasionally. And maybe having something to eat. The poor bugger can’t even go to Nandos. What kind of life is that?

Unlike most politicians – where generally the amount I know about them is directly proportionate to the amount of their own entrails I want to feed them – the more I know about Theresa May, the more I respect. This fucks with my chi enough to make me want to do yoga on a cliff-top, like Slash (if he’d been fed mung beans instead of Marlboro Reds). She’s calm, business-like and lacking in spin. She never speaks unnecessarily. Plus she tolerates fuckwits like me making spectacular social faux pas whilst nervously walking her around an art fair. I kid you not, when you’re in close proximity to Mrs May you become very aware that, under their spendy suits, her bodyguards are ripped and capable of killing with their bare hands.

I respect her work ethic, her refusal to take the bait and her quiet and uncompromising way of getting the job done. But there is one thing that makes me shit a brick; if the Tories want to be re-elected then they are going to have to make her leader. If they make her leader then women like me will find our biros wobbling in the air and falling to make an X next to ‘Conservative’. Unless we are given a brilliant, bright, strong and fearless alternative.


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